Tyme
by the aspiring cynic
Summary: He was a bit of an enigma, she mused, even in his younger years. That foreordained day at the Broadway show they were brought together by tyme but entangled by fate. A prequel of sorts to Deicide. The untold story of Quillish Wammy.


Fate will bring together those a thousand miles apart; without fate, they will miss each other though they come face to face.

-Author Unknown

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

Summary: He was a bit of an enigma, she mused, even in his younger years. That foreordained day at the Broadway show they were brought together by tyme but entangled by fate. A prequel of sorts to Deicide. The untold story of Quillish Wammy.

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><p><strong>AN: I recommend reading ****Deicide**** prior to this but I digress. This short oneshot describes that fateful encounter between Wynter's grandmother (her namesake) and Quillish Wammy. I took the liberty of twisting Wammy's background.**

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><p><strong>Tyme<strong>

She took a long drag from her cigarette and stole a glance at her watch.

The watch was purely for sentimental value; her husband had given it to her on their anniversary. He had perpetually complained that she always arrived late. He once jokingly declared that she would probably be late for the birth of their children. Not that the watch really helped any, she still never appeared on time. The watch itself was broken. Its hands forever stilled and unmoving. From time to time, she would convince herself to go down to the watchmaker and get it fixed. But there was something rather endearing about the broken watch.

She leaned against the closed doors of the theater and patiently waited. She had promised her sister that she would show up to her birthday party but had decided to take a short detour. She knew her younger sister would have her head for this but for now she'd wait. It was late though the street lights were aglow and lit a dull glow onto the sidewalks.

A thunderous cacophony of running footsteps destroyed the quiet ambiance of the street. A young man, barely at the age of twenty, materialized in a fetching suit and tie. He was rather tall and his shoes shined. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he noticed the doors were closed and she felt herself smirk when she caught him looking at his watch.

"Show's closed buddy. They'll open up for intermission though. Why don't you wait a while and enjoy a smoke?" She asked, knowing full well how he would respond.

He seemed to contemplate his choices before deciding upon waiting along with her. He gave her quick thank you when she offered him her lighter.

"So tell me, what brings you here tonight?" She smiled as she took another drag.

"Friends. And you?" He answered after a long pause.

"Sounds like you're from England. My sister's birthday brought me here to the Big Apple. She'll kill me for being late. What's it you do for a living?" She asked rather casually. She noticed that he stood perfectly straight unlike her lazy slouch. He was a regular English gentleman and the product of years of private boarding schools. He probably came from an generously endowed family with connections to the royal family.

"I'm an inventor." He was a quiet fellow and polite too albeit a tad anti-social. He seemed rather reluctant to associate with her but she took no offense. It was an odd idiosyncrasy; he'd have trouble talking to people throughout his life.

"Inventor, eh?" She felt herself chuckle as though it reminded her of a great joke. Now that explained everything. He was probably disowned since his conservative parents would never tolerate this foolishness. That would also elucidate the reason why he had chosen to run to the show rather than take a taxi. He was a penniless inventor with no support from his family whatsoever.

He looked at her rather strangely but she ignored it. She had been getting stares like that her whole life. Once upon a time she supposed it would have upset her but now it was simply commonplace.

"How about you, Miss?"

"I'm a writer. How's that for a profession?"

"It's nothing unusual." He eventually replied.

"Hey mister, do you believe in fate?" Her question lingered in the air longer than she intended. It seemed to break the casual atmosphere they were both occupying.

"Excuse me?" He seemed rather startled by her question.

"Fate's something people should start believing in. They waste all their energies on time. Do you know what time brings? Death, that's what it brings. But fate, now that just introduces a whole bunch of things." She smirked at herself as she took another drag.

"But time can bring happiness and joy as well." She could hear the quiet determination in his voice; it was rather admirable, his silent resolve.

"That's true I suppose if you take joy in the commonplace. You see, time's too predictable. Once you notice the patterns, it's all anticipated. But fate, that's what gives life its jibe. It's because of fate that you don't know whether you'll live another day. It's fate that drives us to live." A silence followed her statement as he seemed to ponder her declaration.

"Hey mister." His eyes looked up at her and she saw herself reflected in his eyes. He was a rather patient man, she noted. Even her husband wouldn't put up with her for this long. He was surprisingly tolerant; most people would have stalked off by now instead of exchanging words with her.

"You'd be good with kids." She found herself saying. This time he merely blinked in disbelief and she sighed as she left to dispose of her cigarette in the ashtray before walking away.

"Wait! Where are you going? The doors haven't opened yet." She heard him shout after her.

She smiled at him as she turned to face him, "My sister's party is at a pub five blocks down."

"But. . ." He was completely dumbfounded.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Wammy." She shouted over her shoulder as she clutched her trench coat closer to her body trying to ward off the chills of the night.

Precisely three months later, Quillish Wammy would find a check for a thousand dollars from a mysterious donor. The patron had signed the check as Ms. Wynter. The young Wammy then used the money as a deposit for his first invention and the rest was history.

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><p>"Hey, sis, what the hell took you so long?" A young Hilda scowled at her sister.<p>

"I went out for a smoke." She shrugged as she settled onto a bar stool.

"For three fucking hours?" The woman snorted before handing her sister a glass of gin.

"Happy birthday." She muttered as she retrieved a letter and a small box from the pocket of her coat.

"Yeah, yeah, happy birthday." Hilda spat.

The pub was dimly lighted and void of life. Most of the people who had attended the party were long gone and the two were the only customers left.

"What's that?" Hilda eyed the letter. The box had contained a pair of earrings that Hilda immediately declared to be butt ugly.

"I need you to hold onto this for me." She said quietly.

"For how long?" Hilda asked warily.

She smiled at her sister and merely thrust the letter into her palm.

"When the time comes, you'll know." She downed her glass of gin.

"You're a load of bullshit, you know that?" Hilda scowled at her older sister.

"Shut up and get drunk will you?" She rolled her eyes before ordering another round but she found herself smiling with melancholy. Hilda would never understand; nobody ever would actually. It would be decades until another came along but by then, tyme would have taken her away.


End file.
